Call me bitter and prophesy for me a loveless future of grey hair and 17 cats, but I don't get certain couples. You know, lovers.
There's the sort that will go out together, coochie-coo on couches and dance the hubba-hubba with a red rose 'tween their teeth, but they will also have separate lives. Separate friends, whom they will concede to meet. Alone. That's the sort I'm rooting for.
I can just see you invoking the Curse of the Catfur on the red velvet sofa I shall be purchasing in a burst of orgasmic passion and optimism when I'm 25, only to realise that, hello? wherefore the passyon? whozza gonna do da jiggy-wiggy wid me? Yo, Nobody. [Stopit. I don't do the ... uhm ... vagina monologue.. to put it subtly]. And then I shall spend my lonesome nights brushing illusory fur off my raggedy lilac sweater and nursing my gout and my grief.
It's this other sort - the joined at the hips, the ones who can't breathe a blooming second without each other, that I can't get. I have a friend, I've known her for 20 years now, we're all about the ya-ya sisterhood and these days she can't meet old friends without the boyfriend freaking tagging fucking along EVERY bleeding where. Uhm, ok, so, he's alright. Not bad at all, loves her and seems like a good person. I mean, I have nothing against him. But this is the girl who used to bite me in lower nursery when she was peeved. We had a warrior dance. We grew up together, we cried together [she did. me, i'm a clown. ahem.], we fell in love with the same boy [ok, yea, that was bad] and spent endless nights talking. Just talking. And now, I can't meet her unless her boyfriend is free. Anyway.
On a more festive note, please congratulate J and Kneo, who are at this moment wallowing in love over good wine and pepper devilled crabs at Mocambo, in celebration of their third anniversary. Those two, they're incredible. They've squabbled and fought their way through love like I've never seen before. I'd raise a toast to them, but the bastards didn't invite me.
In other news, my mother and my aunt have taken it upon themselves to get me a life. Much in the manner of Opal Mehta, I suspect. Topmost on their agenda is to drag me kicking and screaming to the Tolly Monsoon Bash, next Saturday. Turns out, men will think I'm really hot and oh-so-cool, if I'm seen at a place of debauchery and forbidden fruit with aged family members.
I need company - anybody I know going?
As I had always known, applying mehndi on the hands of an unmarried woman proves lucky for her marital prospects. I have been proposed marriage by 3 individuals on the same day. So what if two were women? I am most pleased with the progress.